


Suck It Up

by AHeartForStories



Series: AHeartForStories' Whumptober 2020 [4]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Buried Alive, Gen, Hiccup Whump, Panic Attacks, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, Zombie Apocalypse, httyd zombie au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26823517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHeartForStories/pseuds/AHeartForStories
Summary: Written for Whumptober Day 4. Takes place in my Httyd Zombie AU. Main fic to follow soon. The Dragon Riders exist even in a modern post-apocalyptic world and so the Dragon Hunters. When a pair get their hands on Hiccup, they attempt to do away with him in a rather slow manner.
Relationships: Astrid & Fishlegs & Hiccup & Ruffnut & Snotlout & Tuffnut, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Astrid Hofferson, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Fishlegs Ingerman, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Ruffnut Thorston, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Snotlout Jorgenson, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Toothless, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Tuffnut Thorston
Series: AHeartForStories' Whumptober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949440
Comments: 15
Kudos: 30





	Suck It Up

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is the first prompt I finished for Whumptober and I've been so excited to share this one.  
> Written for the prompt: Buried alive.  
> I really wish I could save a fic to two different series.
> 
> Constructive criticism is appreciated!  
> Enjoy!

His head pounding and the metal taste of blood on his tongue, that is what Hiccup wakes up to. That and the dusty smell of old wood mixed with dirt. Neither of those three are all that pleasant on their own, let alone mixed together in such a way and all Hiccup can do is groan in displeasure at this sensory experience.

He attempts to bring a hand up to his forehead to hold his head, but finds it blocked by the wood that he's smelling. His hand thunks against it painfully, without a doubt chafing the skin on his knuckles and fingers.

It's right in front of him for some reason and it's a struggle to bring his hand up and feel the drying blood staining one side of his face.

A head wound. He's had so many by now that he can just tell. He hopes he hasn't been out for too long or he might be in more trouble than he can afford.

With this sudden resurfacing to the land of the conscious, his groaning is met by muffled chuckling and something being dropped with a scrambled thud on something hollow. Like dirt being shoveled.

It isn't until it happens a second and a third time that he realizes that this sound is much too close for comfort and specks of dust fall on his face that he realizes that dirt is being dropped _on him_.

"He-hey! What's-" He coughs, turning to not get lungfuls of dust only to find that this space is too small for him to even properly turn.

Opening his eyes, or trying to with all that dirt, he sees old wooden planks with the occasional mistreated spider's web in front of him. A quick look provides him with no comfort and he finds he's surrounded by these planks. He swiftly realizes the position that he's in.

He's being buried alive.

"Oh no... Oh no, no, no, no, no, no!" He repeats it over and over again, coughing more than once with all the grime falling between the teeny tiny cracks between the uneven boards.

Those cracks are the only reason he can even see as slivers of moonlight can still wiggle their way inside.

The chuckling from outside comes again and two people are talking about something he can't quite understand. He doesn't recognize the voices either, but remembering the predicament he'd been in before he blacked out gives him all the answers he needs.

Dragon Hunters. Not Viggo's men, not anymore, not since Krogan took over. But though their master has changed, their hatred for the Dragon Riders has not. They've managed to get their hands on him and now they are trying to dispose of him in an utmost terrible way.

There's no reasoning with them, not with these people. So all Hiccup can do is try to break free.

There is very little he can do. A panic causes him to slam his fists on the boards, he kicks them until his toes hurt, and almost too late does he see the nails poking out of some of them. Clearly they'd torn down some aged rickety whatever to quickly put a poorly made coffin together. No care had been put in removing unnecessary nails.

One of the nails scrape against a pinky finger and the burning causes his hand to start trembling. He's glad he noticed the nails before he impaled his fist on it, but that scrape is still worrying. His skin broke just enough to bleed and the last thing he needs is to catch tetanus.

But he can't let those concerns stop him. He needs to get out of this coffin before he's been completely buried and he can't get out anymore.

They can hear him struggle and it's reason for humor amongst the Hunters burying him. They find his growing panic hilarious. Every pounding of his fist on the top of the coffin in the hopes of breaking through the wood, of dislocating a board just enough to tear it away, it brings forth new chuckles and he can imagine the smug smirks on their faces. The sound of his struggling must be like music to their ears.

Hiccup coughs again, tasting the dirt and the falling webs on his tongue and gags. What little light there is in this death trap is being taken from him as more and more ground is shoveled on his coffin. His heart is racing.

His fists and kicks are doing nothing. Besides a scrape, he can't muster up the strength required to do any real damage even to himself in such a small space. And he can't turn in some vain attempt to push with his shoulders or back.

"Bud! BUD! TOOTHLESS!" So Hiccup shouts at the top of his lungs as his list of options is depleted much too quickly. He's hoping beyond hope that his Night Fury's exceptional hearing will pick up on his calls.

He should be conserving his air and just hope that his Dragon Riders will find him in time. They should know by now that he's missing, they rarely separate for long as it is. They should know he's missing and know that this means he's in trouble.

"GUYS!" He shouts and hears his voice reverberating off the walls surrounding him and make his eardrums protest. It does his headache little favors as well as his growing frantic need to get out as well as the steady loss of air.

And then the last of his light is stolen, that little bit of airflow is cut off, when they finish covering the top of his coffin entirely with loose dirt.

How long will it take them to finish leveling this unmarked grave they've thrown him in? How long until they leave? How long until his air runs out? Surprisingly enough, he never thought to research for how long you can breathe when you're buried alive before the Outbreak.

"Please, please find me." He pleads for no one to hear.

Hiccup grabs fistfuls of his shirt, attempting to calm his breathing even as the gravity of his predicament threatens to suffocate the life out of him. It takes him everything not to hyperventilate. He can feel tears welling up, can feel the lump in the throat and he holds his breath for a full three seconds before he dares to breathe out.

His effort to keep his emotions in check is almost in vain, and tears do wet his face before he can feel the need to cry slowly ebb away, forcing that overwhelming emotion to back down.

He's been doing this for too long to let something like this break his control over himself, the control he's been so carefully protecting and crafting this entire time.

Though getting buried alive is certainly a first for him.

 _'Please find me. Someone, please find me. Please, please, please. Please, Toothless. Astrid.'_ He has to think his pleas as saying them will only waste what precious air he has left for now.

It's what his Dragon Riders have been counting on for the past three years and a half. His level head, his creativity, his ability to _sometimes_ have control over whatever situation they find themselves in this time. He can't lose that.

They count on him. They count on him, he just has to remember that and hold onto that fact.

Attempting to imagine their fear, them realizing that they can't rely on their leader, he wants to use the discomforting thought of his loved ones being afraid to keep himself in check.

It's working.

They need him and that means he can't die. He just has to tell himself that.

The sweating and trembling of his body, his heart racing, his headache's pounding worsening aren't signs that he's failing. And neither is the near bruising grip on his arms or the nearly dried tears returning with a vengeance.

His squeezes his eyes shut, they streak down his temple.

"C'mon, Bud. C'mon." They leave as whispers as he can feel these cramped walls closing in on him, he can't keep them down. It's getting harder and harder to breathe and he's not sure if it's because of his panicking or because his air is already running out.

How long has it been? He hasn't owned a watch or a digital clock, like a phone, in such a long time. He hasn't missed a mobile device or even thought about having one since he's lost his months after Outbreak Day after it had run out of battery long before that. But the light would've been appreciated. He has a lighter, but a flame, even as little as that one, will only eat away at what little oxygen still present.

Oh, where is his trusty flashlight? Where is it?

"C'mon, guys. C'mon..."

It's just as he's starting to lose hope and his panic is nearing a point of no return that the sound of hurried shuffling finally reaches his ears. The layers of dirt above his coffin are quickly being removed.

He dares to open his eyes, but his bruising grip or his hurried breathing don't let up. He has to blink a couple of times as more dust falls, but then the layers go and he hears voices. He recognizes them instantly and they become clearer and clearer.

It's them. They found him!

"There! There, I can see wood!" He can hear Tuffnut shouting, immediately followed by impatient whining and claws clawing away the last layers to then scratch at the box itself.

"Toothless?" Hiccup asks and the slivers of moonlight returns to him.

"Hiccup? Hiccup, can you hear me? We're here!" And that's Astrid. He can just barely hear her over the clawing, but that's definitely her.

His panic doesn't leave. It isn't until Toothless manages to grab hold of the lid and rips it open that light and air wash over him like a rampant wave crashing on a rocky cliffside.

His Night Fury is the first one he sees.

"Bud," He whispers.

The fresh air hits him like a truck and Hiccup inhales as much of it as he can. Toothless lets out a pained moan and smashes their faces together in his want to touch his human, to feel his warmth and his presence, to be comforted by the fact that he's still alive and they got to him in time.

Their cheeks pressed together, Hiccup holds his dragon's cheeks to keep him close. His hands are still shivering and he has to suppress the sobs of relief.

"Toothless, how about we get him out of there?" Astrid suggests, laying a hand on his shoulder, and the Night Fury reluctantly moves out of the way.

Once they can, the Riders grab him and swiftly haul him out of his would-be grave. Fishlegs and Snotlout each grab an arm to pull on.

Out of the box and into the open air, Hiccup stands on his feet only to find his legs too wobbly. So they lower him down onto the ground and Toothless is by his side again. Astrid kneels at his one available side and dusts him off.

"Are you okay? We got worried when you didn't return from your supply run and..."

"We were expecting to find you bleeding out or in trouble or something. Never would've thought they would bury you alive." Ruffnut speaks up, her hand holding her other arm.

The Dragon Riders are gathered around him, both the humans and the dragons. Hookfang blows some grime out of his hair.

"Yeah, I'm happy to be out, too." Hiccup tells him, scratching the Nightmare's chin.

"Well, we're happy too, but can you answer my question now? Are you okay?" Astrid repeats her question as Hiccup has neglected to answer it before.

He looks at her for a moment and nods.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine, I just-I just need a moment." He tells her, though it is the opposite of how he actually feels.

He feels awful. Though he's out now, he's weak with fear. This won't be an experience he'll just get to forget like some others.

But he'll just have to suck it up.

That's what he's been doing for well over the past three years, just sucking it up and accept that this is his reality now. No harm in repressing this bad experience as well.


End file.
